


Finns det hjärterum så finns det stjärterum

by Silverilly



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Puns, Gender-Ambiguous Reader, Other, POV Second Person, Puns & Word Play, Reader-Insert, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverilly/pseuds/Silverilly
Summary: Torbjörn isn’t the type to be found on his hands and knees—or so you’d think. And yet, here he is, presented before you like a decadent, hairy dessert. Here he is, butt in the air, ready for rimming.





	Finns det hjärterum så finns det stjärterum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeadlyCrocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlyCrocker/gifts).



> Thank you for taking the time to read this piece! For more information on me and my writing, check out my Tumblr at allyitis!

Torbjörn isn’t the type to be found on his hands and knees—or so you’d think. And yet, here he is, presented before you like a decadent, hairy dessert. Here he is, butt in the air, ready for rimming. His dense, stout body welcomes you, little whistles eking through his nose as you give adulation to his ass.

Assdulation.

You can’t keep yourself from spreading little kisses around his cheeks, worshipping the strong, soft flesh. As your mouth hovers over the top of his crack, you close your eyes, taking in the musk of his scent, the salt of his flavour, the rasp of his groans. If you weren’t so impatient, you’d live in it—but there’s an ass to eat, and you’re gonna eat it.

A shiver runs through your back. You spread his cheeks wide, cherishing the weight of him, taking in each individual hair on his ass before your gaze falls on the sensitive, puckering flesh within. It speaks to you. It _begs_ for you. With fervour, you answer the call at last, pressing your lips to it in a chaste kiss, sighing into your caress. He grunts in response, shifting slightly. You softly rub his ass with one of your hands—as if you’re petting him. As he relaxes under your touch, you go back in, this time with an open mouth.

The ridges of his asshole are rough under your sensitive lips, under your tongue. Initially, you give it a few mischievous flicks, an unorthodox serpent with a fluttering tongue, but teasing is too much for both you and Torbjörn. Indeed, he groans under your snakelike barrage: “Don’t you walk like a cat around hot porridge. _Get in here!_ ”

You’re not entirely sure you understand the part about the porridge, but you lengthen your strokes nevertheless, lapping him up with a greediness you can’t control. Your tongue narrows and broadens against him, working in swirls and in lines, doing everything you can to make him squirm and to taste as much of him as possible. Finally, he’s panting like a dog, whimpering and moaning under your work. Finally, your tongue presses through the barrier, entering his ass.

As you push deeper into his body, you find yourself moaning in tandem with him. Each stroke sends a jolt of excitement through your abdomen—especially considering the string of Swedish spilling from his mouth. He’s moving so vigorously that you have to dig your fingernails into his wide hips to pin yourself to him, every muscle in his legs tensing and flexing with his movements. Under your palms, you can feel the soft jiggle of his belly as it sways with the rest of him.

You carry on, rocking against him, humming into his ass. As you both become more and more aroused, he reaches around himself, grabbing his cock from between his legs. You would love to watch his self-pleasure as you fuck him, but his ass is too engaging, too demanding. He tenses against you as he strokes himself, but you’re in deep enough now that it doesn’t stop you. You’re losing control, now, your face buried in him, nose and lips and tongue and teeth all part of the action, your breath taking a secondary role. You’re losing control, your eyes squeezed shut, your fingernails deep as your tongue, your brain nothing more than an idea of someone else’s imagination. You’re losing control and he’s losing control and _God_ , he feels so good, and his ass is so tight, and he’s moaning and cursing and cumming _,_ he’s cumming, he’s _cumming_ , loud and gruff and long-winded, and you release your own tension in a moan, scarcely muffled even by his ample ass.

 _Oh_.

You pull back, and the entire lower half of your face is damp. Oops. You _really_ got into that. As Torbjörn finally relaxes, turning to lie on his back, you take pleasure in the sight of his body—and in a job well done.

“Next time,” Torbjörn pants, “Let’s bring my wife. I wanna teach her how to eat like that. She can bring her boyfriend, too.”

You feel yourself turn scarlet. “More people?”

“Aye,” he says. “If there’s room in the heart, there’s room for the ass.”


End file.
